Romanticizing Poverty And Learning Financial Independence

In high school, I babysat a kid whose parents were pretty well off. And by “well off,” I mean they were crazy rich.

One day I decided to take the kid out for ice cream - my treat. When we got to the ice cream shop, I only had enough money to buy him the small, and he wanted the large. What then followed wasn't exactly a temper tantrum; it's probably better described as a communication breakdown. He was legitimately confused as to why he couldn't have the larger size.

He truly couldn't understand the concept of “not enough money.” Price was not a matter of quantity to him, but simply a choice - it was like asking whether he wanted vanilla, strawberry or chocolate. The idea that his options were limited because of cost was beyond him. He also didn't understand that I was treating him. From his perspective, the ice cream was always there for him to begin with - it didn't matter who happened to be forking over the money.

She then reminded me that she truly grew up poor. She had dreams about her next meal. She shared a single room with seven brothers and sisters. My mom reminded me that she lived in a remote village in Hong Kong, for crying out loud.

My own mother was one-upping me in the impoverished childhood department. And she definitely won.

But thinking about this situation, and my mom's response, I've been pondering a couple of things: